No. I. 

PR 2839 
.R5 
Copy 1 



Price 30 Cents. 



THE 



SHAKESPEAREAN 
WORLD. 




AN INTERPRETATION 



"A WINTER'S TALE." 



Mks. H. Kate Richmond-West. 



The Shakespearean World. 

No. I. 



(,(. 



Il^TERPEETATIO:^ 

OT 

A WINTER'S TALE. 

EDITED BT 

MRS. H. KATE RICHMOND%EST, 

Room 24, Times Building. 




CHICAGO: 
KNIGHT & LEONARD, PRINTERS. 

1882. 



•\x 



Copyright, 1882, 
Bt MRS. H. KATE RICHMOND-WEST. 



\ 



mTBODUOTIOE^. 



rriHE ever-growing influence of Shakespeare's genius, 
-*- the sympathy it secures from all classes of people, 
the 230wer it infuses into heart and brain of those who 
enter into the Shakespearean world, fill us with longing 
to lead humanity to its heritage; to make as familiar as 
household words the breathings of this mighty spirit ; trust- 
ing some imagination may be kindled, some life enriched, 
through these interpretations of the great genius, William 
Shakespeare. 

This work is the outgrowth of such successes within 
smaller circles that we feel sure an effort to reach the 
masses will be keenly appreciated. The strongest impulse 
to this course came from a group of illiterate people, a 
class of fifty colored men and women. Their earnest 
attention and marvellous appreciation of each story as it 
was unfolded to them, and the direct knowledge of the 
uplifting and joy those hours brought them, proved how 
universal is the craving for food that shall satisfy the 
busy working throng; lifting them above the cares of the 
day into a new world, where they are strengthened and 
refreshed. 

Simply, then, this publication may be considered an 
introduction into the Shakespearean World: — a world 
where humanity never disappoints you; where all the 
forms are truth and nature, which as long as literature 



shall last will feed the hungry soul. Count it a priceless 
advantage to become a member of this exalted community; 
to quit your politics, your shop, your kitchen and your 
ball-room, and enter at will the royal palace, and the 
shepherd's hut. 

Humanity ordinarily lacks the opportunity to meet 
with a sublime soul: yet through the power of Shake- 
speare any one of us can illumine a quiet hour with the 
companionship of souls more choice than we would meet 
with in experience if we lived for centuries. 

And this is the privilege of humanity — not narrowed 
to a class, but the common heritage of all. 



A WIE-TEE^S TALE. 



rr^HIS pastoral drama is supposed, with reasons almost 
-'- conclusive, to be among the latest works of Shake- 
speare. It is written in the poet's ripest style, and shows 
that knowledge of the inner lives of men and women which 
must be the result of experience. It is not as well known 
as the plays which the stage of to-day represents, but it 
is crammed with excellences, rich in characterization, and 
varied in its scenic effects. One must know it well before 
its full beauty can be caught; and each being of the drama 
should become a familiar friend. 

In the opening scenes we are introduced into the court 
of Leontes, King of Sicilia, and the fair Queen Hermione, 
who shares his throne, and nas the undivided love of her 
people. A pure, sweet woman — "not too bright nor good 
for human nature's daily food"; from whose life such 
repose and dignity, such purity and sweetness, such wife 
hood and motherhood and blessed friendship breathe forth, 
as might elevate and crown with beauty the women of 
God's earth. 

The mighty magician weaves his spell around us, and 
we are in the enchanted circle. Our real walls, poor or 
rich though they be, fade away; and stately arches, and 
rich tapestry, -and all that fertile imagination can create 
for us, lend their beauty to the scene. King Leontes and 
the fair Hermione are urging a lengthened visit from 



6 



their guest Polixenes, the King of Bohemia. Polixenes 
and Leontes have been friends from early boyhood, but for 
some years have been separated; still keeping up an 
" interchange of letters and loving embassies." At the 
moment of our introduction to King Polixenes he is 
making his adieus at the close of a nine months' visit. 
Leontes urges a lo^iger stay, and, failing to persuade his 
friend, appeals to his queen. "Tongue-tied, our queen? 
Speak you." Thus urged, Hermione adds entreaty to 
entreaty. . Her words, playful but persistent, overcome 
the decision of King Polixenes, and he gracefully yields 
to her persuasion. 

At the moment when Queen Hermione has won the 
consent of King Polixenes to lengthen his visit, there 
bursts into a devouring flame the jealousy which has been 
smouldering in Leontes' heart. This outburst falls upon 
the happy scene as the hail-storm in a soft June day — 
sudden, black, threatening, then tearing all before it. 

The passion of jealousy is ugly, distorted and low; and 
it poisons the heart and brain of its victim. It has been 
said by some of the critics that this jealousy of King 
^/eontes was unnatural, too abrupt. But the careful 
- ^ader is carried into the past of each of these human 
ves. This is but the moment of its birth in the soul. 
Che spark was lighted long ago; and now, fanned to a 
flame, it blazes beyond control. Who of us can be con- 
scious of all the power within us for good or evil? How 
much lies dormant until the awakening? During this 
nine months' visitation doubtless the King has felt his 
guest more than once in the way — tired perhaps of the 
divided attention of the Queen. One may easily conceive 
of a soul, to whom jealousy is possible, finding more or 



less to feed upon during this lengthened visit. Besides, 
we all recognize the fact that we have no right to expect 
reason where jealousy reigns. The light of the soul goes 
out in its darkness. 

Leontes bids Hermione to entertain Polixenes in the 
garden. With his eyes following them (a distorted vision 
now), fondling his boy, Mamillius, his words lay bare to 
us his secret soul. There are no hidden places — ^ there 
is no reserve in nature. The mighty portrayer gives us 
truth. It may be truth, lofty and sublime; it may be 
virtue, magnanimity, loyalty, love; it may be vice and 
lowest passions, but he gives us truth. The innocent, 
unsuspecting Queen and the loyal friend, all unconscious, 
walk together in the sunshine. 

In the frenzy of his jealousy, Leontes attacks his coun- 
sellor, Camillo, who maintains his own calm center, and 
stands firmly on the basis of his trust in himself and those 
about him. Utterly unprepared for this condition of Leon- 
tes' mind, Camillo fails to catch the spirit of his innuendos. 
Unconscious of the king's interpretation of his words, 
Camillo reveals clearly to us the simplicity of his noble 
spirit ; and his utterances become torches to illumine for 
us the dark and devious methods of this self-feeding pas- 
sion, jealousy: 

Leontes. " Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer." 
Cam. " Tou had much ado to make his anchor hold, 

When you cast out it still came home." 
Leontes. "Didst note it?" 

The bitterness in Leontes' sharp tone, not the question, 
causes Camillo to give him a sudden look of inquiry, then 
to answer calmly: 



8 



"He would not stay at your petitions; made 
His business more material." 
Another flash, from Leontes: 

" Didst perceive it?" 
See how marvellously the brain process is revealed to us 
in the reflection which follows, which is a communion with 
himself, and must be so understood : 

"They're here with me already, whispering, 
rounding, 
Sicilia is a so-forth! 'Tis far gone 
When I shall gust it last." 
He infers from Camillo's simple reply that the court has 
observed and commented upon the relation of Polisenes and 
Hermione, and has given himself already a name so odious 
that the very thought of it still more inflames his passion. 
From this moment every word from Camillo only adds fuel 
to the flame. In spite of the false imputations of the king, 
though charged with cowardice, dishonesty and treachery, 
Camillo still preserves his dignified equipoise. He boldly 
answers all the accusations in one stupendous sentence, full 
of virtue and wisdom, and great in the patience which 
means all that can be gleaned from the word obedience. 
The king, as remote from the regions where Camillo 
dwells as Camillo dwells remote from him, now puts into 
words his whole thought, and clothes it in such form as fits 
its substance. Camillo, roused by this slander of his queen, 
rises now to the sublime: 

" I would not be a stander-by to hear 
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
My present vengeance taken." 
Then melting into compassion for the king's ungrounded 
calumny, firmly rebukes him: 



9 



" Shrew my heart, 
You never spoke what did become you less, 
Than this; which to reiterate were sin 
As deep as that, though true." 
Leontes finds in these words only new food for his wrath, 
and pours out a torrent of vile suggestions upon the alarmed 
Camillo. 

Doubting now the sanity of his king, his mind is full of 
questions as to the best method of dealing with him. As 
Leontes reaches the climax of his thought and purpose, 
which is the murder of Polixenes, he says: 
" Thou mightst bespice a cup, 
To give mine enemy a lasting wink." 
Camillo is prepared for him and assents, to calm the 
king, to close the interview, to think alone, and consider 
the best course for the good of all. Here Leontes leaves 
him. At this critical moment Camillo's heart yearns toward 
his imperilled queen. His soul is overflowing with a great 
sympathy for her, whicii he unselfishly pours out before 
considering his own horrible position: 
" miserable lady ! But for me. 
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner 
Of good Polixenes ; and my ground to do 't 
Is the obedience to a master; one, 
Who in rebellion with himself, will have 
All that are his so too. To do this deed 
Promotion' follows. If I could find example 
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings 
And flourished after, I'd not do 't. But since 
Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one. 
Let villainy itself forswear 't." 
What sermon upon the power of virtue could touch the 



10 



soul more keenly than this dignity of virtuous thought, 
lighting us through the darkness like a torch? This is but 
one instance. The Shakespearean world is crowded with 
such examples of virtue glowing triumphantly over the 
depths of vice. 

But the play moves on. King Polixenes, who is sup- 
posed to have met the King Leontes in the ante-chamber, 
wonders at the brusqueness of his manner, and ponders on 
the cause. In this condition of mind he comes to Camillo 
and questions him. When urged to the bitter truth, Camillo 
confesses Leontes' suspicion that Polixenes " has touched 
his queen forbiddenly." Polixenes utters these memorable 
words : 

" then my best blood turn 
To an infected jelly; and my name 
Be yoked with his that did betray the best." 

Camillo urges Polixenes, for the sake of the queen, for 
both their sakes, to flee the court and seek Bohemia, and 
without delay prepares for their escape. 

This is the position of affairs at the close of the first 
act. Of Hermione, the central figure of the play, the 
grand, womanly woman, we have seen as yet but little; 
still the impress is strong, and she has our heart sympathy 
at once. Fair, beautiful, heroic queen! Would your spirit 
could be spread abroad, that every mother, wife and daugh- 
ter might catch but a breath, and rejoice to claim you as 
their, own. It is the feminine element in Shakespeare 
which, beyond all others, insures the immortality of his 
genius. For as woman is closer to nature than man, so a 
literature that would endure must combine the masculine 
and feminine. ^ 

; This is the one play of the great master's where the force 



11 



of the sympathy, truth, and patience of a woman's invinci- 
ble spirit holds her above all the contending elements of the 
moving drama about her. We have in Henry VIII, the 
noble Queen Catherine as a central figure, but the great 
Buckingham and Wolsey divide the glory. Hermione 
stands alone looking down majestically upon the tumultu- 
ous court. Here the first act closes, leaving the dear queen 
all unconscious of her wrongs; Leontes, feeding the flame 
of his jealousy; Polixenes and the good Camillo, fleeing 
under the protecting shadow of the night. 

Act second opens in the queen's private apartment, 
where, surrounded by her women, she is telling childish 
stories to Mamillius, her son. Into this scene full of sweet- 
ness and repose, breaks the angry king, now terrible in his 
wrath, having learned of the flight of Polixenes and Cam- 
illo; and hurls these words at the unsuspecting queen: 

" Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him: 

Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 

Have too much blood in him." 
He then roughly seizes the child as if to part them, 
Mamillius clings wildly to his mother, while she, with won- 
der, fear, and imploring love, reaches towards her child her 
sheltering arms. Thus addressed in the presence of her 
child, her women, and the attendant noblemen of the king, 
the queen rises, and with horror and surprise asks — 

"What is this? sport?" 
' No reply but the awful accusation hurled mercilessly at 
her, that Polixenes is father to her unborn child. 

Hermione cannot believe her senses, and calmly denies 
the charge. 'Tis then the infuriated king, losing all con- 
trol, adds insult to injury, and, appealing to the astonished 
noblemen, before the whole group, dares to assert Hermione 



12 



an adulteress. The women, weeping, gather about her, the 
courtiers are all in sympathy with her, as this matchless 
woman, self-poised, strong-centred, answers from her 
purity : 

" Should a villain say so 
The most replenished villain in the world. 
He were as much more villain: you my lord 
Do but mistake." 
Leontes, unheeding her words, accuses her further of 
being ^rivy to the escape of Camillo and Polixenes. Her- 
mione, with a dignity that reaches and blesses all humanity, 
makes reply so simple, loving and true, so free from all 
bitterness and reproach, that it stands as a tablet of beauty, 
a light for the world. 

" No, by my life, 
Privy to none of this: how will this grieve you 
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
You have thus published me? Gentle my lord. 
You scarce can right me thoroughly then, to say 
You did mistake." 
With rngry retort the king, calling upon his guards, 
bids them bear her away to prison. Hermione, serene, 
strong, tender, unwilling to believe the cruel words are 
from her husband's heart, in her entire love for him, seek- 
ing some outward explanation, some force of circumstance, 
says : 

" There's some ill planet reigns. 
I must be patient till the heavens look 
With an aspect more favorable. Good my lords, 
I am not prone to weeping as our sex 
Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew 
Perchance shall dry your pities ; but I have' 



13 

That honorable grief lodged here which burns 
Worse than tears drown." 
Still no reproach for all this cruelty; too deep the 
wound. Turning to her weeping attendants she says, 
"Do not weep, good fools; 
There is no cause. When you shall know your 

mistress 
Has deserved prison, then abound in tears, 
As I come out. This action I now go on 
Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord, 
I never wished to see you sorry; now 
I trust I shall." 
Proudly she leads the way, and the guards reluctantly 
do their master's bidding, and bear the queen to prison. 

The courtiers plead for their queen. No doubt is in 
any mind as to her purity and sanctity. All hearts bleed 
for her. To justify to his people his tyrannous proceed- 
ings, Leontes dispatches two messengers, Cleomenes and 
Dion, to the Delphic Oracle to learn what the great Apollo 
may reveal. 

In the meantime, Hermione in the prison gives birth to 
a daughter prematurely, forced by the terrible anguish of 
these bitter weeks, and her maternal grief that her son 
Mamillius has been kept from her, augmented by the 
rumors of his illness and pining for his mother. Weep for 
her ! weep for her ! let your hearts melt with pity for this 
dear woman, this wife, this mother, titles of honor, where 
the queen is all forgot. Weep for her ! as holding her new- 
born child she says "my poor prisoner, I am as innocent as 
you." 

But " Stone walls cannot a prison make." Hermione is 
a free spirit no iron bars can fetter. The immured, the 



14 



prison-bound is lie whose soul is hampered, the cruel jealous 
king. Hermione, speaking from her anguish, within the 
gloomy prison walls, utters words which reveal the repose 
of her innocence ; but for Leontes when he next speaks from 
his palace chamber, there needs no prison grating, no clank- 
ing chain to prove his spirit fettered. " ISTor night nor day 
no rest." His diseased mind is now his prison house, his 
accusing conscience his sleepless jailer. 

One of the most remarkable feminine characterizations 
of Shakespeare is Paulina, who in her devotion to the queen, 
in her courage and self-reliance, in her vindication of the 
truth, and her fearless " holding up the glass " to Leontes, 
stands unrivalled among the whole feminine creation of the 
Shakespearean world. Her motives will bear the closest 
investigation, the sunshine of a loving spirit gleams 
through her every word. But know her well, make her 
your friend, she will be as faithful to you as to her king 
and queen. You may trust her infinitely. She is the wife 
of Antigonus, a nobleman, and is honored by the closest 
friendship of Hermione. Pull of tenderest sympathy she 
comes to the prison to bring some comfort to her royal 
friend, but finds the orders are strictly given that no one 
shall be allowed to see the queen ; but she is permitted to 
see an attendant, and so learn of her condition. In con- 
versation with Emilia she learns that the queen has given 
birth to a daughter, prematurely. Paulina asserts boldly 
that the king is insane, that some one must show him the 
truth, and that the duty falls upon her as friend to both: 
' ril tak 't upon me; 

If I prove honey-mouthed, let my tongue blister 

And never to my red-looked anger be 

The trumpet any more." 



15 



Then, quick as thought can be born, comes to her the 
possibility of the helpless infant's mute intercession for its 
mother: 

" We do not know 

How he may soften at the sight o' the child ; 

The silence often of pure innocence 

Persuades, when speaking fails." 
Hermione gladly gives her consent, and Paulina bears 
her charge to the palace. She is denied admittance by the 
attendant noblemen, Antigonus her husband among the 
number, who advise her of Leontes' command that no one 
should come about him. 

Antigonus. "You must not enter." 

Paulina. "Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me; 

Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, 

Than the queen's life? A gracious innocent soul; 

More free than he is jealous?" 
Here is a tender, womanly heart that pleads for another, 
an intrepid soul whose fearlessness is born of the truth of 
her convictions, and she will not be restrained. Rejecting 
their counsel, she enters, bearing the child in her arms. 
Leontes, astonished at her boldness, commands Antigonus to 
compel her to withdraw. Antigonus, whose position was 
already very trying, the right hand of the king, his confi- 
dant and first attendant, yet feeling all sympathy for Her- 
mione, deserves our pity when forced to maintain the king's 
commands even against his wife, he says, 
"I told her so, my lord. 

On your displeasure's peril and on mine 

She should not visit you." 
Leontes, out of his own bitterness flings an arrow at 
Paulina as the representative of the sex he had so outraged. 



16 



Turning to Antigonus he says: "What, canst not rule 
her?" Paulina answers, vigorously, but with the delicacy 
inherent in her womanhood, — 

" From all dishonesty he can. In this 
(Unless he take the course that you have done. 
Commit me for committing honor), trust it, 
He shall not rule me." 
Antigonus shows in his next sentence more than his 
present trust, the growth of his confidence through a mar- 
ried life: 

" Lo you now; you hear! 
When she will take the rein I let her run; 
But she'll not stumble." 
Besides Paulina's strength of will rising to the heroic, 
besides her depth of love as portrayed in the wife and the 
friend, she now reveals her wisdom: 

" Good my liege, I come. 
And I beseech you hear me ; who profess 
Myself your loyal servant, your physician, 
Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare 
Less appear so in comforting your evils. 
Than such as most seem yours." 
Is she not brave and true and tender? "Loyal ser- 
vant" — does not the expression mean much? "Physician," 
who cures and heals; " Counsellor," who comes, not flatter- 
ing the weakness of a king, but daring to cut into the very 
heart of his folly. As she continues, " I say, I come from 
your good queen." Am I not right? Should not humanity 
be enriched by the knowledge of this ennobling spirit? 
Leontes flings back her words, ''''Good queen?" Paulina, 
nothing daunted, repeats her words with stronger force: 



17 

" Good queen! my lord, good queen! I say good queen; 
And would by combat make her good, were I 
A man, the worst about you." 
Is she not justice personified, holding aloft the scales 
and the sword? Is she not upholding a race of women in 
her justification of Hermione? We confess to have breathed 
deeper, truer breaths of freedom for the comprehension of 
this huge spirit. With unfaltering heart she repeats yet 
again : 

" The good queen, 
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter. 
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing." 
Then Paulina lays down the child before the throne. 
Leontes becomes furious at the sight of it, and orders 
Antigonus to bear away the bastard. Paulina turns then 
to her husband: 

" Forever 
Un venerable be thy hands if thou 
Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness 
Which he has put upon it." 
Prom the first to the last she maintains her free thought 
and speech. Leontes then threatens her: 
" I'll have thee burned." 
In Paulina's retort lies a volume. The old ecclesiastical 
fires had not yet burned low, and the broad-minded Shake- 
speare puts into these words of Paulina his own thought in 
the great question: 

" I care not, 
It is an heretic that makes the fire. 
Not she that burns in it." 
With a final appeal to the weak-hearted ones who dare 
only to reflect him, she bids the tyrant farewell: 



18 



* You that are thus so tender o'er his follies 
Will never do him good; not one of you." 
Leontes revenges himself now upon the weaker vessel, 
and turning to Antigonus, makes him swear a solemn oath, 
under the penalty of forfeiting his own life and the lives of 
his wife and the child. Antigonus swears to obey the man- 
date of the king, to bear the infant to some distant shore, ^ 
there to leave her, " Where chance might nurse or end 
her." With anguish in his face, he says: 

" I swear to do this, though a present death 
Had been more merciful." 
His heart , bleeds as he folds in his arms the little inno- 
cent, and we respect his tenderness as he utters these words : 
"Come on, poor babe; 
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens 
To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say. 
Casting their savageness aside, have done 
Like offices of pity." 
Antigonus goes forth, bearing .the child to its cruel des- 
tiny. This ends the second act of the drama; and if we 
have followed it closely, the reader is now a part of the 
movement, in closest sympathy with each life ; one in the 
dramatic unity. 

The opening scene of the third act gives us a glimpse of 
the messengers sent by Leontes to the Delphic Oracle. They 
are returning to the court bearing the sealed judgment of 
Apollo. Now Leontes has summoned Hermione for public 
trial, and all the people are gathered in the court-room to 
witness the proceedings. The interest is intense as the 
king commands an officer to produce the prisoner. We " 
cannot be one of the deeply sympathetic group unless we 
allow ourselves to feel as they have felt during this interval 



19 



of separation from the queen — an absorbing interest ; a 
love made painful by the very powerlessness of it to help 
the sufferer. Hermione has the devoted trust of her entire 
people; and as, pale and worn from her anxiety, in a weak- 
ened condition from her recent confinement, she is led into 
the court by the guard, the feeling is too deep for words. 
The faithful Paulina accompanies the queen, and watches 
her every breath. The indictment is read; and Hermione 
responds. It is a marvellous plea — a perfect mosaic of 
words, no one of which could be spared. Not for one 
moment does she lose her self-control, nor forget she is 
wife, mother, queen: 

"Since what I am to say must be but that 
Which contradicts my accusation, and 
The testimony on my part no other 
■ But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me 
To say ' not guilty.' Mine integrity 
Being counted falsehood shall as I express it 
Be so received. But thus: if powers divine 
Behold our human actions (as they do), 
I doubt not then but innocence shall make 
False accusation blush, and tyranny 
Tremble at patience. For behold me! 
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter. 
The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing 
To prate and talk for life and honor 'fore 
Who please to come and hear." 
As we listen to these words from Hermione's lips, we 
can almost hear her heart beat; and only that she teaches 
us an infinite patience, we should feel an angry tide sweep 
over us as we hear the sentence of the self-deceived king; 



20 



" For as thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
No father owning it, * * * so thou 
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage 
Look for no less than death." 
Then Hermione pours out all the anguish of her spirit, 
and the lines are red with the emptied wine of her life: 
" Sir, spare your threats! 
The bug which you would fright me with I seek. 
To me can life be no commodity. 
The crown and comfort of my life, your favor, 
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone, 
But know not how it went: My second joy, 
And first fruits of my body, from his presence 
I am barred like one infectious; my third comfort 
Starr'd most unluckily is from my breast, 
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, 
Haled out to murder; myself on every post 
Proclaimed a strumpet; with immodest hatred 
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
To women of all fashion ; — lastly hurried 
Here to this place i' the open air, before 
I have got strength of limit. Now my liege. 
Tell me what blessings I have here alive, 
That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed. 
But yet hear this: Mistake me not; — No! Life, 
I prize it not a straw ; — but for mine honor 
(Which I would free), if I shall be condemned 
Upon surmises — all proofs sleeping else 
But what your jealousies awake — I tell you 
'Tis rigour and not law. Your honors all, 
I do refer me to the oracle. 
Apollo be my judge." 



21 



While the officers of the court are dispatched for the 
oracle, Hermione lifts up her agonized soul — as she recalls 
her girlish days, her childhood home, her father — 
" The emperor of Russia was my father. 
that he were alive and here, beholding 
His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
The flatness of my misery — yet with eyes 
Of pity, not revenge! " 

No wish for a father to justify or revenge the bitter 
wrong; only the cry of the daughter for the dear love and 
sympathy forever gone. 

These were heathen times, and we must keep close to 
the atmosphere of the drama, and let ourselves feel all the 
mingled hope and fear experienced by the court, as the 
officers return with the sealed and sacred message of the 
divine Apollo. Hermione stands the central figure in the 
group, calm in the consciousness of her innocence, sur- 
rounded by the ladies of the court, supported by Paulina, 
while all eyes are fixed upon the returning officers. After 
the court forms, Leontes gives the command to open and 
read the oracle. '''' Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blameless, 
Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tgrant, his in- 
nocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall live ivith- 
out an heir if that which is lost be not found." Then 
the whole court in grand chorus breaks into a paean of 
thanksgiving: "Now blessed be the great Apollo." Her- 
mione, folding her arms across her saintly breast, murmurs, 
^' Praised." The king impiously refutes the words of the 
oracle: "This is mere falsehood." As if in direct proof 
that these are indeed the words of Apollo, a messenger 
enters, bearing the tidings of the sudden death of the prince 
Mamillius. This verification of the oracle terrifies Leon- 



22 



tes into submission, and he falls upon his knees, and with 
uplifted hands seems trying to avert the thunder-bolts of 
the gods. Hermione, who has borne all to this last worst 
stroke (the death of her son), faints in Paulina's arms, and 
by the command of the king is carried into her chamber, 
followed by her loyal subjects. 

It seems impossible at this point ever to take Leontes 
to our love or respect again. But we do; — and it is that 
wonderful process by which we are made to do so, wherein 
lies one of the Shakespearean methods of enlarging our 
natures. We see clearly and conclusively all the processes 
of the soul; and as we know now, if we have studied 
Leontes carefully, the -damning power of a passion, so it 
is also our privilege to contemplate from this point the 
healing, purifying power of remorse. It searches his soul 
and casts out the evil spirit, and we do take him to our 
hearts again, and forgive him. It is so human to err; 
it is so divine to forgive. His prayer still on his lips, 
Paulina enters, wringing her hands, and crying, 

" Woe! Woe! the queen is dead." 
She now thrusts the iron into his very soul, and lays bare 
before the agonized king the awful consequences of his- 
passion, antil, seeing that remorse is torturing him almost 
beyond endurance, she melts her reproaches into pity, and 
the strength intended for rebuke becomes the rock of his. 
consolation. Here we leave Leontes in solitude, crushed 
with the burden of himself, mourning the death of his 
queen and his son, and uncertain of the fate of the little 
innocent one abandoned in the wilderness. 

We are prepared for meeting Antigonus, bearing the' 
child into the vast, 

" Where chance may nurse or end it; " 



23 

and we now find him in the remote wilderness of Bohemia 
on a lonely shore. The tumultuous sea, the threatening 
sky, the vessel tossing at anchor, and that darkness which 
foretells the fierce battle of the elements, are a fit prelude 
to this black and portentous deed. The transition from 
the trial scene with its brilliant assemblage, and the heart- 
throes of kings and potentates, to this outward desolation, 
made blacker and more threatening by the shadow of the 
cruel wrong, thrills us with 

" That spark divine, 
Which makes the whole world kin;" 
and Antigonus, as he unfolds his dream, clasping to his 
heart the forlorn little princess, adds another shadow to 
the general gloom. 

According to Hermione's wish as expressed in his dream, 
the child is placed upon the breast of its mother earth 
— a pitiless breast for a new-born babe — and Antigonus' 
words, as he lays her tenderly down, sound as a requiem 
for his own ill-fated end so close at hand: 

" Blossom, speed thee well! * * * Poor wretch! 
That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed 
To loss, and what may follow. Weep I cannot, v 
But my heart bleeds, and most accursed am I 

To be by oath enjoined to this Farewell! 

The day frowns more and more: thou art like to 

have 
A lullaby too rough : I never saw 
The heavens so dim by day." 
Watching the ominous heavens, and alarmed by the 
sounds of the chase and the growing darkness, Antigonus 
hurries toward the ship which avenging fate forbids his 
reaching. The combined oppressiveness of nature, and the 



24 



cruel wrong are almost too heavy to be borne; and tbe 
wandering shepherd who breaks the spell, with his sim- 
plicity and vigor, brings life and hope to us anew. The 
hunters have terrified and .scattered his sheep, and now, as 
he clambers down the rocky pass, we welcome him, and his 
manly voice and homely phrases become dear to us, as 
searching he stumbles upon this lambkin afar from its fold. 
With the superstition of peasant life he hesitates to touch 
the foundling, and in his fear calls loudly to his son; who, 
coming at his call, with face full of a great alarm, scarcely 
finds breath at once to tell what he has witnessed. But 
at last the facts are told of Antigonus hurrying to the 
shore, of the pursuit by wild beasts, and of his instant 
death, and of the storm which tossed and wrecked the ves- 
sel. The old shepherd now discloses his stranger experi- 
ence, and opens the wrappings of the child; they find a 
casket and gold. They swear secrecy, and bear their new 
found treasures home. 

Here there is a lapse of sixteen years, which is a griev- 
ous dramatic fault; but it is mended with consummate skill. 
The last scene of act third, serving to bridge the long inter- 
val, and preparing for the opening scenes of the fourth act, 
fixes the events in Bohemia, and leaves the baby princess in 
the care of the old shepherd. Besides, a personification of 
Time is introduced as chorus, and helps to join the severed 
periods, by preparing us for the growth of the princess 
Perdita, and for the appearance of Florizel, the princely 
son of Polixenes. 

The two parts of the drama are utterly contrasting. 
The first movement hurried, stormy, passionate, a strife of 
conflicting sin and emotion; the last half, a sweet pastoral, 
brings us morning, and sunshine, and gladness, love and 



25 



roses, the tinkle of sheep bells, and music of murmuring 
brooks. 

Rustic fun and rustic simplicity are here ; and over all 
and beyond all, the actor of many roles, Autolycus; the 
rogue so keen and witty that we forgive his villainy even 
in the midst of his most knavish tricks. 

Once more we meet the king Polixenes, and Camillo. 
The king is inquiring anxiously for the young prince, Flori- 
zel, who absents himself too frequently from court. Camillo 
informs the king that rumor says the young prince passes 
his time at a certain shepherd's cot, and in the company of 
a most fair shepherdess. Polixenes bids Camillo to accom- 
pany him thither, and to-morrow, as that will be the festi- 
val of the sheep-shearing; and in disguise, that they may 
become a part of the group and see this fair maiden. 

And now we must picture a roadway before the shep- 
herd's cottage, and Autolycus stretched idly singing one of 
his snatches of song. He catches joy on the wing, and puts 
us in a merry mood, as listening to the shepherd's son. who 
wanders down the road, he sets a snare for the simple 
fellow. 

He picks his pocket, learns of the festival, and plans 
further mischief. Autolycus is not merely a fellow of infi- 
nite variety, but he is a relic of bygone ways and methods, 
and is not only interesting in himself, but interesting in 
what he suggests. 

The clown, the shepherd's son, throws light upon the 
influence of Perdita in the cottage, and shows us in a few 
words that his adopted sister is mistress of them all, as, 
repeating her message, he says: "What will this sister of 
mine do with rice? But my father has made her mistress 
of the feast, and she lays it on." 



Scene tlird, act fourth, is full of a rich poetry, in per- 
fect harmony with the spring of love in these pure souls, 
and we catch the very essence of joy and beauty as it is 
breathed from the sweet mingling of the whole. The shep- 
herd's cottage, the grassy sweep of lawn, the porch all hung 
with blossoming vines, the tables spread beneath the trees, 
and lads and lasses in gay holiday garments, grouped about 
or flashing by in pairs, like happy birds. From the jarring 
clash and hurried movement of the first part of the drama, 
from its fierce battle with the strongest elements of our 
natures, from its pain and heartache, the restfulness of this 
scene comes to .us as nature's sweet repose after her tempest 
and destruction. Soothed and comforted, we bathe our 
souls in its freshness, and rejoice in the innocence and 
sweetness of these youthful lovers. Is it not wonderful 
that the same power that has portrayed for us kings and 
courtiers, ripe manhood and womanhood, now opens to us 
this very spring-time of the heart? 

Florizel, the son of Polixenes, a graceful prince, while 
hunting, has met the lovely Perdita in the meadows, as she 
watched her flock. Enamored by her beauty, he has sought 
her in her home, and there the enchantment was completed. 
Sweet Perdita has given her heart, but fears the conse- 
quences, now that Florizel has told her his rank, Perdita 
appears to us in holiday array, and Florizel has wreathed 
her with flowers ; and gazing at her, says : 

" These your unusual weeds to each part of you 
Do give a life; no shepherdess, but Flora 
Peering in April's front." 

In the course of the delicious love-warblings, Perdita 
lets us into her little trembling fear: 



27 



" Even now I tremble 

To think your father, by some accident, 

Should pass this way, as you did." 
In spite of Florizel's strong assertions of his enduring 
love, through all trial, Perdita says: " lady fortune stand 
you auspicious." The old shepherd now ushers in the 
guests, and playfully rebukes Perdita for being forgetful of 
her duty as hostess. Among the guests are King Polixenes 
and Camillo, in their disguise, and Perdita goes forward to 
greet them, and calling to Dorcas to bring her flowers, and 
with grace, which is nature, and spontaneity beyond all art, 
she bids them welcome, and bestows her flowers upon them. 
Polixenes is charmed with her graces, talks with her of her 
flowers, and is surprised at her bright replies ; and Camillo, 
in his turn fascinated, says to the king, " She is the very 
queen of curds and cream." But the festival gaieties now 
prevent further conversation, and the rustic reel weaves 
itself to the vibrant sound of the fiddle, into a many hued 
ribbon, stretched across the green. 

This scene is interrupted by a travelling pedler who 
joins the lively group. Singing, he opens his pack, and the 
lads and lasses gather about him like bees around a hive; 
it is the sly Autolycus who has disguised himself and now 
displays his wares: 

" "Will you buy any tape. 

Or lace for your cape. 

My dainty duck, my dear-a? 

Any silk, any thread, any lace for your head. 

Of new'st and finest wear-a?" 
Songs he sings to them and with them, sells all his goods 
and picks every pocket worth the rifling. In the meantime 
Polixenes, who has been questioning the old shepherd has 



learned much of his son's devotion to the fair shepherdess, 
when Florizel, selecting from the guests his disguised father, 
and taking Perdita by the hand, calls upon him to " mark 
his contract." Tearing off his disguise in a passion, he 
answers the amazed prince: 

" Mark your divorce, young sir, 
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base 
To be acknowledged. Thou, a sceptre's heir, v 
That thus afifect'st a sheep-hook! " 
Then turning to the trembling Perdita: 
"And thou, fresh piece 
Of excellent witchcraft, who, of force, must krow 
The royal fool thou cop'st with; 
I'll have thy beauty scratched with briars, and made 
More homely than thy state." 
But the poor old shepherd, who is innocent of Florizel's 
rank, is terrified beyond all, as the king turns his wrath 
upon him:- 

" And thou, old traitor, 
I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but 
Shorten thy life one week." 
Polixenes leaves the dismayed group — Florizel comforts 
his love, and the little maiden gathers her courage suffi- 
ciently to say: 

" I was not much afeard ; for once or twice 
I was about to speak and tell him plainly. 
The self- same sun that shines upon his court. 
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
Looks on all alike." 
Florizel, whom we have enjoyed as a lover, now wins our 
respect as, rising superior to the difficulties about him, he 
communes with Camillo as to some plan by which, inde- 



pendent of his father, he may marry the fair Perdita. 
Camillo, finding Plorizel fixed upon a voyage in some direc- 
tion, counsels him to turn his face towards Sicilia, the king- 
dom of Leontes, where he may be sure of a cordial wel- 
come; and in this way hoping to bring about a reconciliation 
between the kings, and to visit once more his home. 

Camillo makes all needful arrangements. Perdita and 
Florizel therefore embark, having first disguised themselves 
to prevent detection. Autolycus, who always happens 
upon the scene at the interesting moment, assists by lending 
his clothing, and assumes the court dress of Prince Florizel. 

Meanwhile the poor old shepherd talks with his son as 
to the best method of appeasing King Polixenes' anger, 
and they decide to relate to the king all the facts in the 
finding of Perdita. This conversation is overheard by the 
omnipresent Autolycus, who being at this time in the gar- 
ments of Prince Florizel, assumes the manners of the court, 
and strutting about under plea of helping them in their 
dilemma, sends them on shipboard in the same vessel with 
the runaways. 

When the ship has fairly started upon its voyage, Ca- 
millo breaks the news to Polixenes, and all falls as he has 
planned. Polixenes proposes to follow the fugitives. This 
they do at once. 

Florizel and Perdita arrive first, and are announced at 
the palace. King Leontes and Paulina receive them joy- 
fully. Leontes is much struck with the resemblance of 
Perdita to Hermione. The scene is interrupted by a mes- 
senger who states that King Polixenes and Camillo have 
arrived in pursuit of the fugitives, and are awaiting Leon- 
tes in another room of the palace; thither Leontes leads 
the cast-down lovers. 



30 

The suggestions of the meeting in that other apartment 
of the palace would fill volumes, if each -thread of these 
human lives, now drawn together by the mysteries of fate, 
could be followed. King Leontes, whose life for sixteen 
years has been a sacrifice upon the altar of his remorse, 
goes to meet his old friend, the injured Polixenes. Camillo, 
the faithful counsellor, w:ith a love the dividing years have 
not weakened, awaits his king. The old shepherd and his 
son, with a sense of heavy responsibility, and uncertain 
which way it leads them, are come to reveal the secret 
of the finding the child upon the shore, and to show the 
mantle and jewels, those precious relics. Florizel, the 
noble-minded prince, invincible in his love, thwarted and 
crossed as it is; and sweet Perdita, clinging to her lover, 
yet as strong as the prince in her plighted affection, un- 
conscious of her birthright, yet showing every inch a 
princess, growing as nature's violets, whose bloom is no less 
sweet, although the soil be poor and rough, is now to learn 
of her strange history, to rejoice in a father's love, and 
mourn a sainted mother. Paulina, whose strength of pur- 
pose made all reel before her, as she gave herself to the 
duty nearest her (in the early years of the drama), even 
to the peril of her life, now is the very prop of the grief- 
worn king; all her passionate love for the queen seems 
softened and hallowed, and proudly she holds her place in 
this gathering, and silently endures her part of the sacri- 
fice, the loss of her husband, Antigonus. 

Picture this meeting as we may. and it is food for re- 
flection. The occasion is brilliantly described by a group 
of noblemen who were present, and proclaimed the glad 
tidings. 

Bogero. — "Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled. 



31 



the king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder is 
broken out within this hour, that ballad-makers cannot be 
able to express it." 

The old shepherd has told his story of the finding of 
the child — has shown the mantle and the jewels found 
about her — , and another -^nobleman brings the news. It 
is proved to be Hermione's mantle, by her jewel about 
the neck of it. A third nobleman states Paulina has 
urged the royal group to visit her gallery to see her famous 
statue of Hermione, sculptured by that rare artist, Julio 
Eomano, and many years in doing. How full of Paulina's 
devotion is the next suggestion of one of the noblemen: 
"I thought she had some great matter there in hand; 
for she hath, privately, once or twice a day since the death 
of Hermione, visited that removed house." This inference 
blooms into beauty when the story is complete, and we see 
Paulina clearly. 

If we have lived closely to each of .these human lives, 
we know more surely than ever before, what the great 
spirit, creator, ruler, God, means, when close to virtue he 
places vice. We are made to see that virtue is the light 
of the soul which vice cannot extinguish ; we know one ray 
of its glory was never lost although buried beneath mount- 
ains of sin. In all studies of the frailties of human lives 
about us, we get scarcely more than facts and immediate 
consequences; life is not long enough to learn the fruition, 
and humanity is silent as to life's deepest lessons. Here 
we see what havoc in the soul a base passion causes; we see 
its cruel power to blast and wither all it touches; but we 
are not left to wonder at God's injustice, nor to feel despair 
at life's misery, because we see the process, and can follow 
its labyrinthian ways. We know not merely cause and 



32 



effect, but the vital power given to the moral forces, 
through remorse, a consequent of sin, and love, the highest 
law of human life. King Leontes, whom, at one point of 
the drama, we despise, we pity in his despair; we take back 
to our hearts in his self abnegation and repentant life. 
And we rejoice at his just appreciation of Paulina's long 
and patient service. 

The finale sweeps majestically over the whole, takes up 
tenderly the severed and tangled threads of these sacred- 
human lives,, unites the broken, unravels the snarled skein,. 
and weaves anew each separate thread. Like richest organ 
music, in one great wave of sound blending all into har- 
mony, the notes of discord, like the clash of arms; the 
trembling minors, like repentant tears. 

The closing scene presents Paulina's gallery of art. The 
mysteriously united group, father and daughter, king and 
king, lover and mistress, are come at Paulina's request to 
see her statue of Queen Hermione. As Paulina, drawings 
aside the curtain, discloses the perfect counterpart, each 
separate being of the royal group stands transfixed before 
it. Out of a silence all eloquent with prayers and tears, 
Leontes speaks words which send the life-blood leaping 
through our human veins, until our hearts pulsate with his: 
" Chide me, dear stone; that I may say indeed 
Thou art Hermione; or rathei, thou art she. 
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender 
As infancy and grace. 

thus she stood, 

Even with such life of majesty (warm life, 

As now it coldly stands), when first I woo'd her I 

1 am ashamed: Does not the stone rebuke me 
For being more stone than it? " 



33 



The sixteen years of separation and remorse have puri- 
fied and made whole his entire nature; his love for his 
beautiful queen the torturing years have but strengthened. 
As he gazes, lost to the world about him, what wonder that 
in this intensity he feels the statue moves. With sus- 
pended breath we follow his thought. 

Paulina tries in vain to draw him from his growing 
consciousness of life and motion in the glorious form. 
Eeplying to her, yet never for one moment removing his 
eyes from the life-breathing figure before him, he speaks: 
" Still methinks there is an air comes from her- 

What fine chisel could ever yet 

Cut breath? Let no man mock me, 

For I will kiss her." 
'Tis now Paulina's hour of triumph. For this moment 
she has given her soul's devotion through the emptied 
years. Seeing the way is prepared, the hour ripe with a 
promised fruition, she now awakens to life the statue-like 
Hermione, and her words, from their electric power, seem 
to give the vital spark to the marble form: 
"Music! Awake her! strike. 

'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; 

Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; 

I'll fill your grave up ; stir, nay, come away ; 

Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 

Dear life redeems you. You perceive, she stirs." 
Down from her lofty pedestal now steps the glorious 
queen, and turning towards Leontes, holds out forgiving 
arms. Not daring to believe his vision, Leontes starts 
back amazed. Paulina, leading him with loving touch, 
places his hand in Hermione's: " When she was young you 
woo'd her; now in age is she become the suitor." And 



34 



here, safe-folded in Hermione s arms, we leave the rejoicing 
king. 

If students or readers glean but a part of the lessons 
these lives teach, they are broadened mentally and morally. 
If Leontes, in his passion, seems to demand more of mercy 
and charity than jealousy commonly demands, we must 
remember Leontes' soul was laid bare before us, and we 
were allowed to see every motion of heart and brain. Who 
, of us, happily freed from the evils consequent upon master- 
ing passions, could bear the sifting light through and through 
our calmer souls? Who of us are ready to believe " there 
is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth than 
over ninety and nine just men who need no repentance?" 
We say it over and mumble it, but we do not live up to it. 
A deep moral lesson has been taught us in this dramatic form 
of King Leontes, real life can rarely give to us ; and then 
we owe to his grievous fault such a train of towering vir- 
tues as else might never have grown so dear. 

To Paulina we say adieu, as, all forgetful of self, she 
rejoices in the joy of these hearts about her. It is clear 
that these long years of her own widowhood she has filled 
with teiiderest solicitude for the comfort and welfare of her 
beloved and self- exiled queen. It is clear that her truthful 
words to the king, in her effort to recall him to his better 
self, did not alienate Leontes' heart, tor he, too, leans upon 
her strong spirit, and she is as openly necessary to him as 
invisibly the stay and consolation of Hermione. Whether 
she marries Camillo or no, as Leontes suggests, we cannot 
say, but we may be sure she did not " take some withered 
bough" and spend her days in lamenting. Grieve over the 
loss of Antigonus she doubtless did ; but the current of her 
useful life was too strong to be turned now. If she did not 



35 



marry Camillo, she still gave her life in blessing all these 
lives about her. Yes! and blessing the broad world, who 
may claim her friendship as long as literature shall last. 

For Perdita, having taken her to our hearts at once, we 
never need say adieu. She is ours, with her beauty and 
her freshness, forever and forever; and in life's cold and 
barren places, with an autumn in the heart, can waft to us 
the sunshine of a perpetual, blossoming spring. 

For Florizel, love crowns him poet, and his pure, manly 
spirit crowns him prince; and although we know he owes 
much of his attraction to the reflected charm of Perdita's 
grace and beauty, we confess we love him because she 
does. 

But Hermione still keeps her statuesque position, never 
descending from her pedestal. There she stands, monu- 
mental of all that makes a perfect woman. Borne from 
the court-room, at the close of her trial, in a fainting con- 
dition, she remained long in a swoon, which was death's 
counterfeit. Paulina believed her dead, and acted upon 
that belief. Eecovering from that death in life, can we 
wonder at her wish still to be dead to all the world? We 
cannot conceive of this self-poised, calm-centred woman 
resuming her position as wife and queen. Her mind is too 
clear; her soul too upright. So she dwelt apart, awaiting 
the fulfilment of the oracle, that the child " that was lost 
should be found." Her silent forgiveness of her husband 
was eloquent with that love which means reconciliation. 
But it remains for Perdita to unite what she had separated. 
And now Hermione, turning from Leontes, places her 
hands upon that kneeling daughter's head, and all her 
heart gushes in her words : 



36 



" You gods, look down, 
And from your saci'ed vials pour your graces 
Upon my daughter's head." 
We may not put into words this essence of the soul, this 
divine afflatus, which, brimming from Hermione's heart, fills 
ours to overflowing. But we have met with the gods on 
high Olympus, and our souls are fed. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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